


Missing Scenes

by swanhooked



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5963608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanhooked/pseuds/swanhooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different (canon) CS drabbles of scenes "left out" of the show/different POVs. Whenever the muse strikes. Any M ratings will be marked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's (Not) Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x11 - The moment following Hook's death.

_It’s okay._

_It’s okay._

His last words to her echoed endlessly in her head long after the ambulance had carted him away.

She could only be held in her parents’ embrace for so long until she pulled back, her hands rubbing her cheeks in futile effort to wipe the dampness on her skin.  
  
“Emma–” her mother started.

She cut her off before her mother launched into her attempts to sooth her. “I’m–” I’m not okay. “I know you mean the best and I’m grateful, but I just want to be by myself right now. Please.”

Mary Margaret’s protest was cut short by David’s hand on her shoulder.

“Please just call us if you need anything. And you’re welcome to stay at the loft again.”

She could only nod. She appreciated their concern, she really did, but having people dote on her and watch her every move would almost be more painful than what she’d just witnessed.

“Mom.”

Her head shot up at the sound of Henry’s voice and immediately her heart broke off the last of its pieces when she saw the redness around his eyes, the tears still trapped inside.

“Henry.“ She paused. "Are you–”Of course he wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. For the first time she didn’t know what to say to her son. She–selfishly–hadn’t thought about Henry’s pain until he was rushing into her arms. She caught him and held him as tight as she could, hoping it made up for her lack of words.

“I can take him tonight,” she heard Regina say softly. “If that’s okay with you.” Her tone conveyed her concern for her child, but when Emma looked up she saw in Regina’s face a plea, as if to say _let me do this_.

For her or for Henry, Emma wasn’t exactly sure.

“What? No, I want to be with you,” Henry argued.

“Kid, I–” She huffed out a breath. “I’ll come back and see you in a little while okay?” Her body was furiously fighting her attempts to keep her emotions in check in front of everyone, particularly Henry. She swallowed down the softball-sized lump in her throat. “I just need…some air.” Even she didn’t believe it. She hated herself for not being able to comfort her own son but she promised herself to do so later, after she had digested the immediacy of the situation.

“Are you gonna be okay?” He asked. He was still close to her side. She cupped his cheek and smiled at him. He so obviously was pushing down his pain in order to care for her and it only added to her rising pile of guilt. She couldn’t fall apart in front of him, she just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair.

She managed to nod. She glanced at Regina as Henry allowed himself to be pulled back by her and Robin.

Unable to look at the pitying looks of her family any longer, she turned back around to the patch of grass holding the quickly-fading imprint of where he fell. Her hand rose up to grasp her only anchor to the earth and sighed in relief when she felt the cold metal of the ring in her fingers. She looked down at it until she heard their footsteps fade, the crisp breeze becoming the only sound around her.

For Emma time came to halt when she sat down on the cold bench that faced the clearing. The hardness of the bench combined with the frigid air soothed her senses slightly; it gave her another feeling to focus on, rather than the aching heart in her chest.

She looked back down at the ring she had slipped onto the tip of her index finger, the metal warm from her mindlessly twirling and gripping it.

She felt stupid. Guilty. Angry.

Overwhelmingly lost.

The lost feeling her heart knew all too well suddenly regained its vigor in that moment. It filled her mind and ghosted down her chest like a drag of smoke, her chest tightening in protest. Without ever realizing it, Killian Jones had taken it away, eased it to the point of irrelevance.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the wind. She found comfort in speaking to him, whether he was there somehow or not. “I’m sorry I was so scared of the future, all that time….” Wasted.

Cliché, she thought, that only when it was too late that everything became clear to her. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, you were supposed to survive, you stupid pirate,” she cried.

Her eyes closed to allow what she knew not to be the last of her tears. She finally let the sobs take over, hating their echo against the trees but couldn’t find the sense to care. Her knees slammed into the damp grass in front of her as her body fell forward under the weight.

A few moments later she felt her hand throb and slowly she released her fingers from their grip on the ring, the skin red and indented with its small carvings. Her breath was slowing but her chest still ached. It amazed her how one could feel everything but absolutely nothing all at the same time. She felt physically empty, yet her heart was like a vile filled with the darkest of magic, its poison wafting through her chest until it clogged every crevice inside her.

She’d thought she’d known loss, but oh how she was wrong. She hadn’t known what mattered until it was gone, maybe never to be seen again.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, jumping in surprise at the contact.

“Henry,” she sighed when his features came into focus. She quickly tried to wipe her face before his hand stopped her.

“Mom, stop. You don’t have to do this alone,” Henry whispered. He was kneeling down in front of her, his hand still on her wrist. She saw his lips quiver slightly before his next words fell heavily in between them. “I loved him, too.”

She yanked him down into her arms. He was too big to fit in her lap but she didn’t care. She held him like their lives depended on it as they both cried into each other.


	2. Emma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x12 - During a moment of suffering, Killian indeed "hears" Emma when she attempts to contact him at his grave.

**_“Killian.”  
_ **

**_“Killian–help you–just can’t–”_**  

**_“…where you are–”_ **

Her voice.

**_“Talk to us. Talk to me.”_ **

_No. It can’t be._

Her angelic voice.

_It’s a trick._

_She’s not…_

_It’s a bloody trick._

He heard screaming, a frantic wailing that shattered his ears and when he felt his chapped lips close he realized it had come from him.

Blackness stalled around him, dots of static darting furiously in front of his eyelids; pressing, squeezing, choking. It swirled around the remnants of her voice. He struggled desperately to hold on it, to hold on to her, be it a hoax or not. 

He was falling, his body weightless as he spun and spun. A loud cracking sound startled him as wooden rungs sprouted out of the cavernous walls beside him. He tried to grasp one. Something. Anything–anything to stop the swirling darkness trying to suffocate his lungs. To stop the haunting voice. His voice.

It filled his ears and slapped his face. He had killed people. Men. Pirates though they may have been, he took the lives of people not unlike the Crocodile he’d sought to destroy for centuries under the name of revenge. But that was nothing. He almost laughed. No, it was nothing compared to the true villain he became, _nothing_  compared to hurting the one person he promised to never let down.

To hurt. 

To abandon. 

His entire existence held the honorable purpose of protecting the woman he loved, his beacon, his light, and in the end he became the thing he needed to protect her from.

He saw himself, his body exuding an aura black enough to wipe out the sun, standing in the house that was supposed to be their home. Their future. 

_“So much for our future, Swan.”_

The scene changed. He was sauntering up to her, stopping inches from her face, his lips close enough to touch hers. He braced himself for his words, the vile statement he would never forget for the rest of whatever existence awaited him. The worst part, of course, being the knowledge that neither would she.

_“That’s why you’ll always be an orphan.”_

His eyes rolled back and his face stung as though he’d been slapped. “IS THAT THE BEST YOU’VE GOT, DEMON?” He yelled, but his voice was too weak for it to mean anything, for it to make a damn bit of difference.

Her hazel green eyes emerged, blocking everything else out in a dull gray haze. _Swan_. They glistened in the moonlight as her tears fell to the damp grass _,_ her lips quivering as he scolded her for not believing in him, not trusting him.

 _She’s alive. That’s all that matters,_ he told himself. He uttered it until the visions ceased, though his reprieve only lasted so long.

A different voice returned.  _The_ voice. The faceless puppeteer yanking on the invisible strings punctured into the skin of his back. _What’s to believe in?_  it spat.

Flames of a brilliant blue appeared, though no heat emanated from the sparks; if anything he was freezing, the hair on his arms standing to attention, his breath a frosted veil. The blaze blinded him and overwhelmed every sense in his body. 

 _After all, who could ever love a conniving, selfish,_ murderous _pirate?_

**_“Killian!”_ **

He dropped to the ground, the force jolting his bones. Pain shot down his leg, around his torso and up his arms. His mind was muddled, foggy, clogged, but slowly, his body began to awaken, reattaching with his mind. He began to feel the stickiness on his skin, his neck, and finally his face.

One eye popped open, the other found to be swollen shut. A final image appeared, a siren with white-gold hair, her body hugged by red. The edges were blurry and faint but unmistakable. He would know her anywhere. 

Air rushed into his lungs, choking his throat as a prayer left his lips. 

“Emma.”

 


	3. He Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and MM have a moment after Emma tells them her plan to save Hook.

“Forgive me if I’m missing the obvious, but how exactly does one get to the Underworld?” asked Robin. 

“That’s where Gold makes himself useful,” Emma said bitterly. “We’ll use his blood to call the ferry at the lake.” 

Regina scoffed beside her, looking directly at Emma. “And he just agreed to this?”

“If he doesn’t want Belle finding out about his return to Darkness, he’ll do whatever I ask of him.” 

“Poor Belle,” sighed Mary Margaret softly before popping her head back up. “Is this really fair? To keep her in the dark like this?

Emma’s lips formed a grim line, swallowing before she spoke. “I don’t like it, either, but he’s my only chance to save Killian.” Her voice remained stern, telling the others she would not be swayed on her decision. 

There were mixed nods of agreement, pity, or resignation; she couldn’t tell which. When no one said anything else she straightened her shoulders and continued. “We have to wait until the moon fully rises. Then we meet Gold by the lake.” 

“So we have a few hours,” David added. “We best make our preparations...the ones we can make anyway.” He wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

A somber silence hovered around them. They had absolutely no idea what they were walking into. All Emma knew was that she had something that resembled a plan and that was enough for her. She nodded her thanks to her father for supporting her. 

She swallowed down the lump in her throat at the thought of everyone coming with her. She was beyond grateful for it, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else. She was gripping and twisting the ring around her neck when her mother’s voice startled her.

“Emma,” she started. “Can I talk to you?” She nodded towards the sofa in front of the window. 

Emma glanced at the others who seemed to be discussing the plans for Neal, Roland, and the baby while Henry was rummaging through his backpack. Turning back to Mary Margaret, she nodded and followed her to the couch. 

After they sat, her mother took her hand in both of hers, squeezing in comfort. She didn’t say anything and neither did Emma. They both watched David exchange a final nod to Robin before heading back into the bedroom. Regina glanced at Emma before following Robin out of the loft. 

Mary Margaret shifted more towards her after the door shut with a soft click. Then she spoke the question Emma had feared was on her lips since Emma had posed her quest. “Emma, are you sure about this?”

The tiniest amount of doubt could be heard in her voice and without thinking Emma yanked her hand out of her grip, immediately regretting it when she saw the brief hurt flash across her mom’s features. She gave a sad smile in apology before placing her hand on top of her mom’s. “Yes,” she replied strongly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” 

Her mom nodded, not arguing any further. “You love him. Truly,” she stated.

Her free hand returned to its vice hung around her neck. The words weren’t a question; her love for Killian wasn’t exactly a secret anymore but for Emma, it was only in the recent weeks that she’d let herself really fall, really open up. For that reason, her emotions were right on the surface, fresh and new and almost uncontrollable. “There is no one else,” she declared, her voice a broken whisper. She fought the tears burning the back of her eyes. 

“I saw you wearing that in Camelot. Is it--?”

“What? Oh,” Her eyes bugged when she realized what her mom was looking at. Her hand was still on the ring in question. She focused on its carvings as she answered. “It’s not an engagement ring.” She wondered if her mother could detect the slight disappointment in her voice. “It was Liam’s--his brother’s. He said it was the reason he had survived for so long.” Her lips formed a bitter smile, cursing at the ridiculous irony. 

Suddenly, everything started to spill out of her, Mary Margaret listening intently and grasping her hand again in encouragement. “All I could think about last night was how much time I’ve wasted, pushing him away because I was too scared. And for what?” She laughed humorlessly, peering back to her mother. “You want to know the reason I couldn’t light the flame back in Camelot? It was because I knew being free from the darkness would send us into this seemingly perfect life that we knew wouldn’t be perfect but it would be ours and everything I never thought to even hope for and I just...” Her shoulders slumped as a sob overtook her. She allowed herself to be cuddled by the woman beside her, her tears falling onto both of their shoulders.

“He knew Emma,” came her reply, her hand running up and down Emma’s arm. “He knew how much you loved him.” 

She kept her head on her mom’s shoulders, trying not to focus on her use of the past tense. She sniffled before adding, softly, “He’s the one who picked out that house, you know.”

“Well, I helped,” a voice chimed in. They looked up at Henry, who proceeded to pull out a chair from the table, dragging it over to sit in front of them. His confident, boyish smile immediately soothed Emma and she felt her shoulders relax. 

“You did, indeed, kid,” she smiled, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. “I never thanked you for that.”

Henry waved her off with a hand. “It was my idea and my name, of course, but Killian picked the house.” 

She felt herself take a deep breath _. He knew._   _He knows_ , she corrected, the statement quickly becoming a mantra in her mind. 

“We’ll find him, mom,” Henry said, his signature Believer voice filling the words. “We’ll find him and you’ll have your happy ending.” His eyes glistened on his last words. "We all will.” 

Her happy ending.  _It’s you._ His elegant voice slipped past her fears and hugged her mind until she felt the conviction her son exuded. She beamed with pride and love for her son and for the first time the hope she had been holding onto since she came up with the plan held her right back. 

"That’s right. If there’s one thing this family is good at, it’s that we _always_ find each other,” came her mother’s reminder. She then reached forward to clutch Henry’s hand in her left, Emma’s still in her right. She exchanged looks between both of them and grinned, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Let’s go get our pirate back.” 


	4. Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the kiss in 5x15, so more of an extended scene than missing

His answer of yes surprises him with how easy it slips from his lips. Her face is still perplexed, her mouth agape from loss of words, eyes wide and bright in typical Emma Swan fashion and he smiles at her. He smiles at her because _yes of course_ he plans to come home.

 _Yes, I love you,_ he says.

_Yes, I choose you._

Liam’s last words call back to him. The man he had held to such a standard finally lowered the bar enough for Killian to see that who he had striven to be was already within; no mistakes could wipe away the loyalty within his heart, the bravery of his soul.

His life of darkness had left too large a mark for him to see; it had cloaked the man inside for far too long–that is until Emma Swan tilted his world on its axis the day she appeared in the Enchanted Forest.

He tells her he damn well intends to have the future Liam wanted for him, the life _he_ wants, and the love Emma deserves, before he yanks her forward, crashing his lips to her in a far too long-awaited kiss. 

_Yes, that future is with you._

She grabs his shoulder, kissing him back, before cupping the back of his head with force. Her fingers run through his hair as she tilts her head, softening the press of her lips just so. He sighs into the kiss when her hand slides against the back of his ear, then his cheek. She’s cradling him so hard, so lovingly, he wonders how he ever thought he could leave the home of her embrace. 

When their lips pull apart, neither of them moves, content to just breathe the other in. He grins when her bottom lips hits his again, bringing his hand from the small of her back to her waist, curling it lightly. 

Her hand slides across his shoulders and down his arm, stopping at his wrist. “I missed you,” she breathes against his lips.

His heart squeezes at the words, understanding that she doesn’t just mean the last hour, or even the time between when he died and now; they’d been pulled apart, back and forth, by darkness. This was the first moment that was theirs alone, nothing but the tether of their souls between them, where such could relax its pull with nothing but their bright future in its line of sight.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, emotion closing his throat. His eyes close to the images of his madness, the murk of the words he’d lashed out at her. Only when he feels her thumb brush over his eyelids does he look at her. 

“Me, too,” she replies, locking her gaze with his. He wants to argue because she shouldn’t be, but the weight of her decision lessens slightly at her words and they both feel it. He sees the warm light of the room sparkling in her eyes and when they flick down to his lips it is her who pounces this time.

He grunts happily against her lips before lifting her up in his arms and moving to the first available surface–a desk a few feet at their right. The sound of papers and unknown objects scattering to the floor is overshadowed by Emma’s soft giggle and the kiss is broken by the grin spread across his cheeks. For a second their surroundings don’t exist; all he feels is her tongue caressing his, her thighs gripping his legs and her hand pressed against his spine while his curls in her soft waves of gold. 

If he ever questioned where his home was, it was here. It was her. 

Emma pulls back, gasping for breath against his chest. “We should really…try to find Henry,” she mumbled, her voice lacking any conviction to do so. 

He chuckled, resting his lips on the top of her head. “Perhaps.” 

She pokes her chin into his chest as she looks up at him. “I love you,” she tells him softly. 

His heart surely had no need to beat at the present moment but if it did, it would have stopped at her words. Those three words he knew he’d never tire of hearing, the expression of Emma’s strongest form of bravery–entrusting him with her heart, his greatest gift of all. 

Her eyes suddenly flicker downwards and he brings a finger up to lift her chin. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, giving him a reassuring smile as she grips his hips lightly. “Nothing. I just realized I hadn’t said that as…me yet, and without it being a last moment type of–”

She laughs when he kisses her again. “Killian!” 

He relents to a final kiss to her cheek before pulling back, chuckling. “Sorry, love. Making up for lost time,” he smirked. 

They break apart abruptly when they hear the front door opening and Henry’s voice echoing over to them. “Mom?”

“We’re in here, kid!” Emma called as she hopped off the desk, quickly smoothing over her clothes for any shifting and rolling her eyes at Killian’s smirk. He reached up with his hook to smooth a strand of her hair back into place in response. 

Henry appeared at the edge of the room then. “There you guys are. We’re all meeting back at the loft. I found something.”

They threw an optimistic glance at one another. “Lead the way, lad,” he said brightly. He wrapped his arm around Emma’s shoulders, pulling her close as they followed behind Henry. When the boy wasn’t looking, Killian tugged her temple to his lips to whisper, “I love you, too, Swan.” 

She grinned back at him, squeezing his waist with her fingers in response. They walked out into the brisk air, feeling the first inkling of true hope of getting out the Underworld and back home, where their future would begin. 


	5. We Can Do It Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene - 5x15: More of an alternate ending; Emma comforts Killian after Liam’s passing

She could tell something was wrong when he stepped back from the group, moving until his back hit the center counter. Now more than ever they were attuned to each other, their energies never more in sync. To everyone else he might be able to use the excuse of exhaustion to explain his heavy features, but Emma saw the brief flicker in his eyes that held more than he wanted anyone to see. As much as she was an open book to him, he was to her as well.

The group of heroes was chatting amicably for what felt like the first time since they arrived. Henry had given them a possible plan, a method to exploit Hades and ultimately defeat him, and the room was filled with renewed hope. 

She left them to continue their discussion with Henry while she made her way over to Killian, whose eyes were downcast as they watched his fingers methodically rub along the metal of his hook. He looked up when she placed her hand on top of his. 

“Do you want to go to the cemetery?” she asked him.

He swallowed, his head bobbing in a grateful nod. She took his hand in hers firmly and began leading them out of the loft, telling the others they were going for a walk.

She didn’t comment when she saw his shoulders visibly relax as soon as the door shut behind them, just twined her fingers with his and held his upper arm with her other hand. 

Their walk to the graves was quiet, both of them knowing words were not needed just yet. The foggy air hovered around them, wrapping them in their own private bubble. 

They walked through the cemetery, the damp grass housing hundreds of stones that marked one’s fate in one glance. When Killian suddenly stopped short she followed his gaze and found it was not his brother’s grave that captured his attention. 

She feels him tense and almost hears his hard swallow. His eyes were trained on the grave almost as tall as she, the name  _Killian Jones_  etched in gold in the center of it. She can’t shake the twist in her gut it causes, despite his warmbody beside her.

She brings a hand up to his clenched jaw, smoothing the muscles gently until he removes his focus from his tombstone to gaze at her. 

“Sometimes, I forget,” he admits quietly. 

She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, ignoring the doubt that constantly threatened her confidence in their success to return home. She wants to say he’ll be home soon, but the promise holds no substance--not when the reality was apparent in the very place they were standing. 

She squeezes his hand in comfort and pulls him forward. Her hunch about the placement of Liam’s grave proved correct as about ten paces to the right, she finds the newly tipped-over stone that bears his brother’s name. Its slab was a simpler design than Killian’s, with no grand display to his name. She wonders just what kind of deal he made with the Lord of the Underworld and if the two were correlated. Then she thinks it didn’t much matter now.

She watches him for a moment, surprised to find not grief overlaying his features, but a semblance of peace. His lips quirk at the corners just the slightest bit, his eyes noticeably shining before he can hide it. She shook their clasped hands gently, directing his attention to her as she moved to sit down in the grass in front of the grave. “Come sit,” she said.

He followed her direction and sat down cross-legged next to her, his knee bumping hers as he moved closer. He glanced at her with a small smile as she soundlessly brought her arm around his shoulders, guiding his head to her shoulder. 

She rested her lips on the top of his head, relishing the feel of his soft hair tickling her nose. “You okay?”

“I am,” he replied with a sigh. His hand had found her thigh, his thumb tracing small circles into the denim. “I lost Liam a long time ago, but I’m happy he’s found peace.”

“I’m glad I got to meet him,” she said sincerely. Despite his assumptions about her, Liam was a crucial part of Killian’s life and the man he was--and she tells him as such. 

Killian lifted his head to look at her in response. “He raised me,” he stated **.** His words held undeniable gratitude for his brother and she couldn’t help but smile at the way the blue of his eyes gleamed like that of a young boy. But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. “What I learned tonight was how high he set the bar. I made him out to be someone he wasn’t.” He continued to explain the deal Liam had made with Hades and the cost paid by their crew. His head fell, his gaze unseeing towards the ground and suddenly she gained insight in his newfound forgiveness in himself. 

She reached up and moved the long strands of hair that were falling in his face, curling them behind his ear. “Do you remember what you told me when I was upset with my parents and what they did to Lily?” 

He nodded, a soft expression crossing his face. She took his hand and laced their fingers together against her leg. 

“He wanted to protect you, and he wanted to make you proud,” she told him. “He made you the man you are; the man who is loyal and knows good form. I may not have known Lieutenant Jones, but I got to know Captain Hook, and no matter how far you’ve fallen, Killian, you’ve always been that man.” She pulled him back into her embrace, kissing his temple. “The man I love,” she whispered. 

When he turned his head to smile into her shoulder, she saw the single tear that had fallen down his cheek. “He told me to tell you he was wrong, by the way.”

“Well, I could’ve told you that,” she muttered.

Killian chuckled, then turned serious. He straightened slightly, removing his hand from hers to wrap his arm around her, reversing their positions. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, Emma. About Liam, and myself.” 

A moment passes. She gazes at him and before she can stop herself she lets slip the words squeezing her throat. “I would’ve let you go, you know.” 

She heard more than saw the breath leave his lips, its wisps mixing with the chilly air as he looked at her with such palpable emotion her lungs struggled to exhale. “Really?” he asked, his voice so small, her heart clenched at the sound--at the thought that he still couldn’t believe, couldn’t comprehendher love for him.

She nodded, ignoring the pricks behind her eyes as her emotions fought to break through. “If it was what would have made you happiest, yes. I will never make that mistake again.” Memories she would not soon forget flooded her mind; the sight of his last breath leaving his body as she hovered over him, surrounded by flowers never meant to witness such a sacrifice, then when it all came to fruition--the final moment where sword met flesh and he was gone.

His eyes didn’t seem to know where to look, his own emotions clouding their gaze. She hastily wiped the tears beginning to spill as she took the moment to voice herself. “Liam was right.” Feeling his eyes on her, she kept her head down, her fingers shredding the grass at her feet **.** “I’m the reason any of this happened. I know you said I gave into the darkness out of love, but it was selfish--I should’ve listened to your wishes, and I’m--” Her voice cracked in pitch and she took a shuttering breath. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

When he didn’t respond, she looked up at him and the second she did, he kissed her. He deftly cupped her cheek as their lips hungrily sought the other’s, somehow finding a balance between need and care, a medium all their own; it was sweet without being soft, passionate without being fast. In that moment, her heart felt as though it never knew pain. 

Their foreheads touched as they each caught their breath. “Emma, love, I could never be upset with you for not wanting to lose me,” he whispered. The sureness of his voice washed over her; it was as if he couldn’t have ever believed anything else and she once again marveled at how apparent and how deep his love for  _her_  ran in return.

Sometimes she felt like the undeserving one.

“I guess we both need forgiveness from ourselves,” she said weakly. She feels him kiss the top of her head as he hugs her closer.

“We can do it together,” he smiled.

No matter the odds of escaping this place, she smiles at the image his statement brings forth--at the true possibility of them becoming a team in more ways than just savior and pirate.

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. A new sense of excitement had surged her heart when he’d told her of his intention to have the future he deserved, the future they  _both_  deserved, and as they made their way back to the loft, their hearts lighter and eyes happier, she knew they would never stop fighting until they got it.


	6. Just Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3x02 - Thoughts about her past rushing to her mind, Emma sneaks away from camp the night of her revealing Pan’s map to Henry. Killian - always aware of her presence - goes to find her after she doesn’t return for a while. Emma begins to see how alike they really are.
> 
> Part of the Captain Swan Storybrooke - https://www.yumpu.com/en/once_upon_a_captain_swan (It's the gorgeous golden cover one)

Emma flung the blanket off her body, rolling to her side in another attempt at rest. She tucked her hands beneath her cheek and forced her eyes closed as she tried to focus on anything but the thoughts swirling around in her mind.

The uneven ground dug into her hip, beads of sweat dripping down her neck as the stagnant air fought her lungs. The island had grown so quiet all she could hear was the occasional rustle of someone turning in their sleep; it’s eerie presence looming over them under the light of the moon. A few feet away her parents slept, their easy breathing something she envied.

The map that now gave them a path to Henry should have calmed her, but as it lay folded under the edge of her bedding, all it served to be was a reminder of everything she had tried to forget, everything she was trying not to be.

Her mind refusing to settle, she ignored her body’s protests and sat up. Quietly, she slipped on her boots, grabbing the map and tucking it inside her shirt for safekeeping. She slung Neal’s cutlass over her shoulder, pausing briefly to glance back at her parents before sneaking out of view.

She used the tip of the sword to mark the trees that she passed as she followed the dirt path. She walked about twenty paces from camp before the land opened up to reveal another small clearing. Finding a fallen tree trunk, she slumped down onto it, resheathing the sword before resting her elbows on her knees.

She stared forward, the foliage around her moving occasionally from a rare breath of wind that did nothing to cool her skin. She kept waiting for the cries to return, for the voices of the lost boys to seep into her mind and twist what she knew to be true.

She felt a tug for a place she didn’t know, a place to return to.

A home.

Despite her parents’ many efforts, Storybrooke remained lacking; a place to reside while she got to know her son–something she didn’t even know how to handle with her own parents. How was she supposed to be the parent he needed when she had been left with no example? No way of knowing how to trust the person that birthed you but sent you away to a life alone?

She didn’t bother wiping away the tear that left a trail down her cheek as she let the thought come through, Pan’s words echoing off her skull, taunting her.

_He hasn’t forgiven you, either._

It was proven today that she wasn’t The Savior everyone wanted--needed--her to be; she was what she had always been: a girl who didn’t have a family who knew her, who understood her. An orphan.

The word was one she shoved down many years ago, its inflection too heavy to carry. She was no princess. The real world didn’t care what she wanted. Her head dropped into her hands as the weight finally became too much–so encompassing that she didn’t hear his footsteps until they stopped just beside her.

She quickly wiped the wetness from her cheeks, bringing her head back up and opening her eyes to find a flask hovering just in front of her face. Hesitantly, she took it.

“It’s not wise to be out here alone, love. The jungle’s dangerous enough in the day,” said Hook.

She ran her fingers along the leather of the flask, noting the cap already swinging from its cord. “Did you follow me?” she asked before lifting it to her lips, grimacing as the warm liquid slid down her throat.

“Couldn’t sleep, fancied a walk,” he replied casually.

“You followed me,” she argued plainly, staring forward. She waited for his response, turning to him after a moment when there was none and finding the truth in his eyes. She tipped the flask toward him before taking another sip. “At least you have rum, I suppose.”

He huffed, tilting his head as though insulted before his face softened. There was a short pause before he shifted his weight toward her. She kept her gaze on the ground as he asked, “What’s vexing you, love?”

She felt his eyes on her as her thumb wiped away a drop that had escaped down the flask. She was reminded of his earlier attempt to get inside her head and found, in the twilight of the woods, just the two of them, she felt the pull to trust him. “Pan found me again,” she told him. A beat of silence passed and she felt the moment escape to say more.

She’s grateful when he doesn’t press, instead gesturing to sit next to her with his hand and a slightly raised brow. He waits until she scoots down the trunk to give him room.

He swung the end of his coat over the tree and she wonders how the hell he wasn’t dying of heat stroke in that thing. He looks at her before glancing away. “Pan is trying…and succeeding to get under your skin, using what he knows will cut most deeply.”

“Well, it’s working,” she mumbled, offering the flask back to him.

His palm wraps around the bottle and she ignores the tingle that goes through her when their fingers brush. Her eyes flick up to his. “As soon as you let him get to you, the battle is all but lost,” he responded softly.

A breath is all that passes before she retracts her hand and stands up. “This island makes me feel defenseless,” she sighed angrily, beginning to pace. “I don’t know what I’m doing. My son is somewhere out there,” she gestures to the wildlife around them, “being told he’s better off without me and if I lose him,” she paused, her throat clogging with emotion at her next thought, “to that, to the same–” _To the same demon she still carried with her._ She took a deep breath. “If he feels alone like I did, then I’ve already failed.”

She’s grateful when he doesn’t respond with some optimistic retort her parents would have given her. She sat down, her body now as restless as her mind after her admission. Her words hang between them for a moment, both seeming to be encased in their thoughts. She sneaks a glance out of the corner of her eye and she finds herself unable to look away from his face, taking a moment to notice small details she never let herself before. The line of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks. In the dim light he looked far younger than he was, and what she expects to say isn’t what comes out. “You look tired.”

His lips quirk up in a humorless smile. “Probably because I am,” he said.

As if on cue he raised the flask to his lips and took a long sip.

“You hear them, too,” she stated.

She sees the understanding glaze over his eyes. In that moment he discovered just who she was and it terrified her, but perhaps worse was the lost look she saw in his eyes, the one that now connected the two of them in a way she hadn’t anticipated. He faces her and she catches his eyes shift down to her lips and back before he composes himself. “Aye,” is all he says.

“How did you survive here for so long?” she asked on a breath.

“I had to.”

The conviction in his voice surprised her. “Killing Rumplestiltskin was worth that much?”

There was a long pause before he finished. “She was worth it,” he responded quietly, unconsciously brushing the underside of his right wrist with his hook before looking back at her. “Your boy is worth it.”

She gave him a small smile, taking another sip of rum when he offers.

“This island was probably the largest aid to my becoming a villain,” he admitted softly a few minutes later.

It was the first time he mentioned his history with Neverland and she had a feeling if she asked for the story behind that statement, they would be sitting there ‘til morning. “A villain wouldn’t have come back to help us,” she argued, looking at him. Once the words slip out, she realizes her belief in them.

He studies her face and she feels her cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze. “If there’s one thing I learned in my life, it’s who deserves my loyalty.” She swallowed, his unwavering belief in her quickly becoming overwhelming but he continues before she can respond. “The way I see it, your boy is lucky to have you, Swan, and he knows that.” There’s a pause and what he says next nearly brings tears to her eyes. “He knows he matters.”

She gives him a grateful smile, hoping he can’t see the way the remark overwhelms her. After one final offer of rum that she waves off, he takes the opportunity to stand. An unfamiliar pull goes through her, something in her wanting him to stay. He’s about to turn when she catches his attention. “Hey, Hook?”

“Yes, love?” he asks, his brow raised.

“Thanks.”

He raised his flask, nodding in acknowledgment as he walked away, becoming lost to the dark jungle just as quickly as he had appeared.


	7. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6x09 - Emma reflects on Belle and her newest vision; a conversation between her and Killian that night. Slight smut.

They lay in bed that night even more exhausted than usual from the day’s events.

She realized today she no longer had the luxury of ignoring her fate, of ignoring its weight pressing into her shoulders to the level of resignation.

She was going to fight; she would not take away her parents’ daughter for the second time, she would not leave Henry without her again, and she certainly could not leave the man laying next to her. Not after everything they’d been through, everything  _he’d_  been through. 

A soft press of lips to her neck broke her thoughts. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he mumbled groggily against her skin. 

She pulled his hand resting on her waist and brought it close to her chest as she laced their fingers. Sighing, she kissed the back of his hand, her nose brushing where his rings normally sat. “So are you,” she countered quietly.

His lips still pressed to her neck, he pulled her closer to his body and her eyes remained closed as she settled into his warm embrace.

She knows they both hadn’t been sleeping well since the visions started, their minds too busy thinking, wondering, worrying. She realized today how scared he was, his jaw clenching whenever the word death crossed her lips. He would never admit it, his persistence to be strong for her–for both of them–too present, but she could read him as well as he could her. Her anger at the universe swelled within her for what his future could possibly be, what she might not be able to give him. 

They were silent for another minute, his thumb brushing her bare chest absently. “What are you thinking about, love?”

She gently turned in his arms, sliding her knee between his as she tucked herself against him. She kissed above his heart before pulling back to see his face. “I was thinking about what Belle did today,” she answered. 

Belle had been in the back of her thoughts all night, her mind unable to shut off due to the multitude of emotions that came with them.

He hummed in response, moving a strand of hair behind her ear as he listened, waiting for her to elaborate. 

“It reminded me of when I gave up Henry,” she admitted softly. 

His fingers paused in stroking her hair at her words, his eyes softening into a gaze of compassion. “I can only imagine how hard that is for a mother,” he said. 

A sad smile crossed her lips before her head tilted in realization. “We’ve all had to give up a child to give it its best chance.”

“We?” 

 “Me, Belle–my parents,” she clarified, her parents the focus of the thought as she looked into his eyes. “Seeing it in front of me…,” she shook her head. “I don’t know, it feels different now than when I just had my experience to fall back on.” 

“She was lucky to have you today,” he said, his hand now tracing circles on her back. “You were amazing with her.” His pride was evident in his voice.

She smiled at the compliment. “I’m glad I could be there for her.” 

The way her voice trailed off seemed to tell him her thoughts went to her experience with Henry and what she would’ve given to have a hand to hold when she gave birth, young, alone and scared out of her mind. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead as he hugged her tighter.

She sighed, wondering if she would ever not feel overwhelmed at the way he held her, if she would ever not be taken aback by how much a person could love another.

“Killian?”

He was watching his finger trail down her side and along her hip where the edge of the sheet covering her had slipped down, a soft smile on his lips. “Yes, my love?”

“Do you want kids?”

In her usual fashion, the bluntness of her question startled him. After all, they had yet to have this particular conversation (if only because it still terrified her). They generally found their moments where they could, their future just a concept in their minds. She couldn’t help but curse at the timing, at the reason she was bringing it up. 

His hand had paused, his eyes searching hers for moment before he let his hand rest atop her waist. “Do you?” He asked softly.

She swallowed at the present tense of the question. The question could be asked, the words said, but the discussion held an image of something they may not reach and she felt like a fraud speaking about it so casually.

She shrugged, her emotions suddenly clogging her throat. “What if I–we don’t get the decision, what if–”

“Emma–”

She continued over him as the image formed in her mind; a little girl–she didn’t know why she saw a girl, but the farther her mind went the more she realized that was what she wanted. The girl had her hair, his eyes, her cheeks, his smile. She could feel tears gather behind her eyes as she imagined him making her laugh with whip cream on his nose just as he did with Alexandra and it was all too much. She wanted it; she wanted it more than she ever had and how dare the universe threaten to take it away. 

Then a different thought found its way through and she balked at the absurdity that was their life. “I mean what if we did, and another curse happens or some villain is after her and we have to be separated and–”

“Emma.” 

His hand on her cheek stopped her rambling. “Emma,” he repeated, shaking his head like he couldn’t comprehend the rant she just released at him, his eyes wide and a tiny grin upon his lips. “Her?”

She traced back her thoughts, realizing what she had said and blushed. “I–”

His lips were on hers before she could finish. She kissed him back with all she had, holding his face in her palm as her fingers sought the soft hair at the back of his neck. He pulled back a moment later, moving only to put his forehead to hers. 

She held him there, not wanting to pass this moment, to taint with it with reality. For a moment, it was just them, their thoughts the same: of the future they wished to spend with the other. 

“It’s not fair,” she whispered, a stray tear falling. “I can’t help but think if I wasn’t the Savior, we wouldn’t be in this Hell.” We wouldn’t have  _gone_ to Hell, she thought bitterly. “But then without me being the Savior and Henry bringing me here, we might’ve never met and I just–” Her voice broke.

There was a rustle as he slid down, making them eye to eye as he placed his head on the same pillow as her. Her hand was still at his cheek, savoring the feel of his scruff scratching her palm. “We’ll find a way. We always do,” he told her and her eyes slip closed. She wanted to believe him, and for the most part she did, but–

“But…” 

Her eyes flew open at his echoing thought, seeing the glassiness in his as he took a deep breath. 

“If…,” he began, and her heart sunk in her chest at the word, at the sliver of doubt they had both wanted to ignore finally surfacing between them. His jaw tightened, the pain evident in his eyes. “If,” he said again, the word just a whisper. 

She leaned into his palm that was now hugging her cheek, his thumb catching the tears beginning to fall. 

He paused, seeming to decide against what he was going to say. “I just…,” he continued, his voice soft, “I don’t want you to feel like you didn’t give me enough, because every day, every moment I have had with you has been enough.” 

His words finally broke her. Her breath shook as she surged forward and locked her lips with his. They quickly passed the point of teasing and she could taste the salt of their tears on her tongue as their lips met again and again 

He broke the kiss, skating his lips across her jaw and down her neck.

She let out a breath as he sucked her pulse, the secret spot he had learned drove her crazy where her neck met her jaw. Her body quickly responding as it filled with heat, she reached down between them and took him in hand. His small moan against her skin made her smile as she gently stroked him. 

He pulled back and faced her again, his breath heavy as he touched her lips with his thumb. Time seemed to stop as his fingers caressed her face, his eyes filled with love and dark with lust as they bore into hers. Her breaths ceased as he ran his hand down her body, grazing the curve of her breast before stopping just above where she wanted–needed–him most. 

She felt him hard against her stomach as she shifted her leg to hook over his hip. He followed her lead, his hand moving to aim himself at her entrance as he slid down.

A pleasant sigh escaped them both as he entered her. She pulled his face close to hers, their breaths crossing and brushing each other’s lips. Neither of them moved, the overwhelming love coursing between them becoming almost tangible, like they could hold it within their grasp with no intention to let it go.

“I love you so much, Emma,” Killian whispered.

She closed her eyes, pretending she couldn’t hear the cry of fear in his tone. Instead, she focused on the words that had become her lifeline.

“I love you, too,” she returned, sealing it with a kiss.

He made love to her slowly, his face inches from hers as if she would disappear if he glanced away. 

She treasured every second, every gaze, every caress of his lips that erased the scars that marked her heart, and it was enough. 

If her life ended tomorrow, this would be enough. 


End file.
